I have tried so many ways to pray. Tried and failed so many different ways. Little seems to stick. In my mind I have this ideal image of me. I am seated cross-legged on a cushion, eyes closed, palms resting on thighs, breath by breath transported into full union with God. I sit like this for thirty minutes or more.
Now the truth…this type of medication is very hard for me. My mind is the monkeyest of monkeys. I try and try but I give up. Paul says that when we can’t pray the Spirit prays though us, sighs its prayer. And that prayer rises.
Be yourself and find your own way. Advice that has been given to me many times. And finally after a long time I actually hear the message. Be me. That means read scripture and other spiritual books, write down my thoughts, and listen to music. Music calms my soul and my mind. Music touches me deeply and transports me. Music heals. Music draws out my prayer and carries it to its destination.
About four years ago a spiritual director gave me this poem in response to something I had said in our session. I loved it immediately shared it with friends but only
today really heard what it had to say to me.
Music by Anne Porter
When I was a child
I once sat sobbing on the floor
Beside my mother’s piano
As she played and sang
For there was in her singing
A shy yet solemn glory
My smallness could not hold
And when I was asked
Why I was crying
I had no words for it
I only shook my head
And went on crying
Why is it that music
At its most beautiful
Opens a wound in us
An ache a desolation
Deep as a homesickness
For some far-off
And half-forgotten country
I’ve never understood
Why this is so
But there’s an ancient legend
From the other side of the world
That gives away the secret
Of this mysterious sorrow
For centuries on centuries
We have been wandering
But we were made for Paradise
As deer for the forest
And when music comes to us
With its heavenly beauty
It brings us desolation
For when we hear it
We half remember
That lost native country
We dimly remember the fields
Their fragrant windswept clover
The birdsongs in the orchards
The wild white violets in the moss
By the transparent streams
And shining at the heart of it
Is the longed-for beauty
Of the One who waits for us
Who will always wait for us
In those radiant meadows
Yet also came to live with us
And wanders where we wander.
“Music” by Anne Porter from Living Things: Collected Poems. © Steerforth Press, 2006.
Lady Playing the Piano by Carl Holsoe